All This Has Nothing To Do With Me

by Monica Sabolo

  Extract from an article published on the website mondeinconnu.com (author unknown).

  10 April 1912: the Titanic begins her first transatlantic crossing en route to America. She is a brand new luxury ship that they claimed was unsinkable. However, the shipwreck itself occurred on the night of 14–15 April, a human tragedy that marked the twentieth century and influenced the collective imagination. Bertrand Méheust, the author of Paranormal Stories of the Titanic, is interested in the parapsychological phenomena that surround this highly traumatizing event: ‘The demise of the Titanic seems to have been anticipated or “seen” by dozens of people in England, mainland Europe and the US’. Méheust notes that there seems to have been a huge range of ‘unprompted divinatory or prophetic experiences, including dreams, spontaneous flashes of anxiety, and hallucinations experienced in a waking state’.

  The World of the Unknown summarizes accounts of these experiences, all of which are practically unknown to the general public. From the very start of its construction, strange stories about the Titanic began to circulate. On 31 March 1909, construction began, and the ship received the hull number 390904. One of the draughtsmen realized that this number spelt out the words ‘No Pope’ when reflected in a mirror. Some workmen believed it was anti-Catholic aggravation and immediately stopped working, convinced that with a serial number like that, the ship would never be under God’s protection.

  Others made banners saying ‘No God, no Pope’ which they attached to the hull of the ship whilst it was under construction. A boy who ended up dying on the Titanic wrote a letter to his parents in which he claimed to be ‘convinced that the vessel would never arrive in America due to the abhorrent blasphemy that covered its sides.’ Amongst the workers, rumours surrounding the vessel got bigger by the day: ‘the Titanic is a cursed ship’, they said . . . Around the same time, a number of people who consulted clairvoyants said they were warned about danger relating to a shipwreck. And that was more than three years before the Titanic set sail! Then, in the months and weeks preceding the Titanic’s maiden voyage, these premonitions increased in number. Many travellers who had already reserved tickets decided to cancel and call off their prestigious journey aboard the Queen of the Seas.

  A. (PART 2)

  PRECURSORY SIGNS OF THE SHIPWRECK

  Now let’s go back to section A with a more detached scientific approach. Even as a novice, using parapsychological tools allows one to foresee the catastrophic destiny of the relationship.

  Important words are in italics and highlighted in bold.

  Place: Cannes Film Festival

  Date: 18 May 2011, 10:30pm–4:30am

  Context: Melancholia reception, on the 3.14 beach

  Soundtrack: Amoureux solitaires (Solitary Lovers) by Lio.

  (only sound data retained.)

  Critical moment: ‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’ (request made by MS at 3:12am in a state of altered consciousness.)

  HAPPINESS

  Generally happiness emerges in an unexpected way. For reasons that escape all scientific conjecture, the loved one suddenly behaves in a joyful and sentimental manner. His movements are purposeful, he takes the initiative, and while he is set in motion, advancing towards a common goal (the fusion of bodies), the loving one is thrust into a state of treacherous euphoria, somewhere between bliss and debility. Despite the modification of her contemplative faculties, the loving one is overcome by an acute premonition: all this will not last, worse still, all this is not happening. Torn apart by a feeling of imminent loss, the loving one starts to accumulate material proof of her happiness, like plant specimens which lose their colour in an instant when pressed between sheets of paper.

  This strategy of preservation, commonly known as herbarium procedure, is puerile in nature. Indeed what is more pathetic than a note book filled with sweet chestnut leaves radiating the macabre scent of decay?

  A. CANNES

  Transcript of text messages.

  6:26pm, 20 May 2011, XX to MS.

  How’s things? Were you at the Drive scrng?

  6:28pm, 20 May 2011, MS to XX.

  A man in the driving seat, seriously hot.

  6:28pm, 20 May 2011, XX to MS.

  I know this is the tame version, but I was meaning to ask you if you’d like a ride on my scooter. Have you got time?

  6:29pm, 20 May 2011, MS to XX.

  Yes!

  1:42pm, 23 May 2011, MS to XX.

  Sorry about the inappropriate behaviour. An uncontrollable impulse.

  1:42pm, 23 May 2011, MS to XX.

  It must be the sea air.

  1:43pm, 23 May 2011, MS to XX.

  Are you pissed off? (you just glared at me.)

  2:58pm, 23 May 2011, XX to MS.

  No.

  Evening pass for the Nouvelle Vague party.

  Ticket for the screening of Drive, directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, Circle, Grand Théâtre Lumière.

  Photo of MS taken by XX in Le Night nightclub.

  Key card for access to a hotel bedroom.

  Map to restaurant Da Laura, rue du 24-Août, Cannes, sketched by MS.

  Body lotion sample from the Hotel Palais Stéphanie.

  B. PORTO

  On the afternoon of 20 July 2011, XX was playing football and fell victim to a terrible sprain. The scheduled weekend trip to Porto in the company of MS was cancelled. To make up for it, XX organized a Paris/Porto festival of exclusively Portuguese activities staged at his apartment in the 18th district of Paris.

  Map of Porto with notes from MS.

  The Porto of my Childhood DVD, directed by Manoel de Oliveira

  The Spousals of God DVD, directed by João César Monteiro.

  The Phantom DVD, directed by João Pedro Rodrigues.

  Sleeping with Company: The Second Book of Chronicles, by António Lobo Antunes, published by Points Seuil.

  Travel kit: toothbrush and toothpaste.

  Bottle of Lagrima ‘teardrop’ white port.

  C. LONDON (BRIAN ENO)

  Cards from the game ‘Oblique Strategies (Over One Hundred Worthwhile Dilemmas)’ created by Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt, given to MS by XX on 12 July 2011.

  PERSONAL DIARY

  30 March 2011

  This evening we ate at a tiny little Japanese restaurant in the 17th district. The owners, a pair of fifty-something bikers from Kyoto, were approaching our table. XX hardly opened his mouth.

  ‘Doesn’t silence bother you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m wary of random chit-chat.’

  I smiled. So did he. Then we went back to his and watched the first three episodes of Freaks and Geeks. We wore T-shirts, and his arm was around my shoulders under the duvet, like two of the teenagers from the programme.

  6 April 2011

  This evening we went back to the microscopic Japanese restaurant. I noticed a photo on the wall of the female owner in a leather outfit beside a red and black Honda 500cc. She placed an Asahi beer in front of me. I had the urge to grab her fingers.

  He chatted nonstop. He ordered eel. I said, ‘Good idea, me too.’

  Then we went back to his and watched Freaks and Geeks, episodes 4, 5 and 6. I had a panic attack while watching I’m With the Band (episode 6). He fell asleep in his white tennis socks.

  11 April 2011

  This evening the lady owner wore a pair of Converse. She gave me a sympathetic look. He ordered a couple of glasses of sake. I laughed, knocking mine back, and poured myself another.

  ‘I think I’m beginning to like silence,’ I said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ (mocking me).

  I looked at the prawn on my plate, its shrivelled little legs, its little black eyes.

  Then we went back to his and watched Freaks and Geeks, episodes 7, 8 and 9. I had a panic attack while watching Girlfriends and Boyfriends (episode 8). He opened a bottle of Heineken, then the window, in a sweeping motion like you swing open shutters in a holiday home – dubious view, I thought.

  20 April 2011

&nbs
p; This evening I ate the heads on the prawns. I had a panic attack while watching The Diary (episode 10). When we’ve watched all eighteen episodes what will happen to us then?

  DVD boxset: Freaks and Geeks, created by Paul Feig.

  CATALEPSY

  Copy of a note from MS written on an unsealed Treasury Department envelope, deposited on XX’s computer keyboard.

  Thanks for last night. I don’t understand what happened. I’m not always like that, you know. As a general rule, I display an unusual level of audacity and flexibility. Without meaning to brag, I’m a sex machine.

  PS: I made myself a coffee, I couldn’t find the sugar.

  Catalepsy: the complete suspension of voluntary muscle movement in a particular position. The posture which emerges is that of a statue or a mime1 artist. A patient in such a state can remain in the same position for hours (whilst a sane individual would be incapable of remaining immobile for so long), thereby giving the impression of a corpse. (Source: fr.wikipedia.org)

  TELEPATHY

  Dear XX, you don’t seem to realize that I’m not doing too well. You are there, opposite me, you write, you type, you type, you type with those stupid headphones on, but how do you do it? I’m also writing, you might say to me, I’m also typing, but believe me, I’m not producing anything worthwhile as far as work is concerned. You are wearing a lovely cravat, but you look tired, you’re coughing (that ruins your colleagues’ concentration, you know), I bet you went out last night, didn’t you? What a question, of course you went out, like you do every evening, of course you carried on leading the life I know nothing about (I imagine you surrounded by pretty heroin addicts). And me? Well, I slept. I went to bed at 9pm: ridiculous, but there you go, this affair is wearing me out. (Though can we really talk of an affair when one of the parties involved spends his nights in shady places and the other wanders around in pyjamas banging her fist on the bathroom shelf, muttering, ‘That’s it! Enough!’? Can we talk of a love affair as far as we’re concerned? Oh! You’re blowing your nose. Can I take that as a ‘yes’?)

  Your attention please. I’m going to carry out a remarkable act. I’m going to send you a message by using the simple power of my mind: Dear XX, we have no past, probably no future, would you be kind enough to invite me out for a drink this evening? Could you please stroke your cravat to say you will, a sort of ‘roger that’?

  A MONTH IN THE LIFE OF MS

  Time in the office: 150 hours.

  Hours spent with XX (outside work): 35.

  Happy time spent with XX: 2 hours.

  Time brushing teeth: 2½ hours.

  Tears: 4 hours.

  Sex: 1½ hours.

  THE RUSE

  ‘Still on the subject of the telephone: when Daimler decides to go for broke, he prepares himself psychologically. Then he pulls on his black leather gloves before dialling the number.’ (Extract from Daimler Departs by Frédéric Berthet.)

  Message left by MS on XX’s voicemail,

  00:12am, 30 July 2011

  ‘Hi there, it’s me . . . I am relieved to get your voicemail . . . I just wanted to say . . . I don’t know what’s happening right now . . . To cut a long story short, I don’t think this experience is all that great. Do you know what I mean? It’s just not great, is it? . . . I don’t want to hurt you, but if it’s going to carry on in the same way, it would be best to stop, don’t you think? (cheerful voice, escalating to a high-pitched one) Maybe we should just be friends . . . Right, hugs and kisses (cheery tone).’

  Black leather gloves.

  MISSFORTUNE

  Transcript of a meeting with Maurice P, rue de Paradis, Paris X, 19 June 2011. Discussion takes place after the meticulous observation of MS’s palm with the help of a magnifying glass.

  ‘Umm . . . do you travel a lot?’

  ‘Err no, not a lot.’

  ‘I see mountains . . . most likely Austria. Or maybe Spain.’

  ‘I don’t like Spain very much. Could it be Portugal?’

  ‘No, there are mountains . . . Austria. There’s snow. Do you do winter sports at all?’

  ‘Not much now, not for the last ten years or so.’

  ‘Ahh there you go, these must be images of your childhood . . . (silently focused). I see you’re going to update your software.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, you’re even going to get training on it. Does that mean anything to you?’

  ‘Err . . . No . . . But I really must confess it isn’t my main concern here.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s there, in any case (circular hand movements in front of MS’s face). It’s imminent.’

  ‘Oh, OK, very good, thank you.’

  ‘I see a boy . . .’

  ‘Oh?’

  (nodding head cautiously) ‘You’re in love.’

  (nodding head timidly) ‘Yes.’

  (shaking head anxiously) ‘The outcome isn’t positive.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘He’s very young, you know.’

  (shaking head cautiously) ‘The outcome isn’t good.’

  Traditional magnifying glass with black handle.

  PHARMACOPOEIA

  Transcript of a conversation with Sophie V, pharmacist, City Pharma, rue du Four, Paris VI, 20 July 2011.

  ‘I don’t feel very well at all: I’m really unhappy, I’m crying a lot . . .’

  ‘Are you feeling anxious at all?’

  ‘Not really, I’m just very unhappy.’

  ‘Are you sleeping?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s fine. No, I am just crying all the time.’

  ‘Here, you need to take these. Two tablets, morning and night, and then you slowly reduce the dose over a few days.’

  Box of Euphytose, for mild anxiety and insomnia.

  DENIAL

  ‘Daimler has a theory according to which, these days, true romantics are required to pass themselves off as cynics. He refuses to explain further when he’s asked about it.’ (Extract from Daimler Departs by Frédéric Berthet.)

  Extract from a conversation between MS and XX, at Chez Ogazu, rue Sainte-Anne, Paris II, 12 June 2011.

  ‘Do you mean to say that the next stage in our relationship is boredom?’

  ‘Inevitably, yes.’

  ‘That’s very depressing.’

  ‘Well no. You see, at the moment we’re in the emulation phase, and it’s a rather pleasant stage. But it’s like the Tour de France: each leg can last anywhere between two and a hundred and fifty kilometres.’

  Dried fish.

  CYNICISM: THE ILLUSION OF BATTLE

  Let us pause for a moment to consider the personal perspective described as a cynical attitude, a distinctive feature that characterizes the loved one. It is easy to imagine how much this rhetorical art, this supposed rebellion of the mind against over-sentimentality and posturing, puts strain upon the soul of the loving one. The detachment, dry humour and cruelty which arise from it both captivate and blind at the same time. For, as verified by EVERY SINGLE empirical study, the loving one – who we will call ‘Romantic’ – sees in this feigned indifference the behaviour of a desperate individual. The hopeless mind that characterizes the ‘Romantic’ works hard to conclude that composure, contempt and cruelty are indicative of an individual who is on edge.2

  Consequently, in a blind desire to see emotion triumph over the world, the ‘Romantic’ gathers all her strength (which is poor as her energy has been snatched away by nights spent composing embarrassing speeches) and prepares for a battle that will never take place. For the ‘Cynic’ declines the battle (his skill is that of evasion), though of course that will not prevent carnage as no doubt the ‘Romantic’ will see her heart ripped apart just like a slab of rump steak thrown into a bear pit.

  THE ENIGMA

  We can reflect on deeper – existential – reasons for the loving one’s persistent affection for the loved one. We have seen that romantic combat that aims for the victory of emotion over reason con
stitutes a powerful driving force. But it is a combination of factors that guarantees the longevity of this relationship and offers the loving one the appealing possibility of completely ruining her life and ending her days dishevelled, in a tracksuit, haranguing an invisible voice in the clinical white corridors of a care home.

  As well as sentimental hysteria, inactivity and rashness, the loving one’s inclination towards foreign tongues often overwhelms her. But it is not merely a question of superficial attraction for say a Brazilian or a British individual (there was one from Manchester), though admittedly that sort of attraction is undeniable. No, it is a matter of a penchant towards the Other, a hazy concept which encompasses a multitude of metaphysical notions (The Absolute/Poetry/Ecstasy/Freedom), of which the loved one is seemingly Earth’s representative. In fact, this representative seems to be the bearer of an enigma: just a few words, gestures, even his simple presence in the world raises awareness of an incredible secret. The loving one, who forges ahead with all this as if chasing the shadow of Grace, is painfully impatient to gain access to this secret, which naturally will never be revealed to her. This quest may not open the door of another world to her, but at least it has the virtue of keeping her busy and diverting her attention from real problems.